The Hyde to Dean's Jekyll
by lace and silk
Summary: Dean has been in hell for 30 years. He finally gives in to Alastair, and unleashes a part of him he never knew existed. I know it is short, but I wrote it in one English lesson, when I was meant to be doing other things! oh well, enjoy :D


**Rated: M**

**Summary: Dean has been in hell for 30 years. He finally gives in to Alastair, and unleashes a part of him he never knew existed.**

**Not quite sure where this came from, I just could not get the idea out of my head when I was in my English lesson studying none other than The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. This is my first Supernatural fic, and also my first attempt at anything angsty, so let me know what you think? please? :)**

A fresh scream was ripped from Dean's throat as Alastair tore at his tender flesh, twisting the knife round and round until Dean felt like he was on a merry-go-round of pain. His body tried to throw up, and pain rippled throughout his body at the movement. Alastair plunged his hand into Dean's gaping stomach, nails drilling into his flesh mercilessly. Dean pulled his arms against the heavy, black shackles on his wrists and legs in protest against the pain. The chains were the only things keeping him suspended above the fire in the pit below. He could not see the fire, but he could feel the heat emanating towards his helpless body, licking hungrily at his back.

"You know Dean, you Winchesters are all such martyrs, all willing to sacrifice yourself for your family. But you're just putting off the inevitable. One day Sam is going to die. Well, that is if he doesn't go dark side first, without his big brother there to help him."

Alastair's tone was casual, but each word pierced Dean with razor-sharp precision.

"Do you know what it is doing to him, knowing that you are being tortured because of him? Do you remember how you felt when Daddy traded his life for your worthless one? Sam's destroying himself, with no help from us demons, and there is nothing you can do about it. So why endure all this? Why do you torture yourself Dean? Because it may as well be you ripping into your own flesh, spilling your own warm blood. We both know that you can stop all this whenever you want to. Do you want it to stop?"

Dean glared balefully at Alastair with his one good eye, but remained silent except for his heavy breathing. But the word that Dean's lips refused to form was obvious in his eyes as his soul broke through like sunlight through a window; yes. Yes, he wanted the pain to stop. Yes, he wanted to rip into someone's screaming body, to feel their blood on his hands instead of his own for once. He could no longer deny the desire he felt to hurt others, to dish out pain instead of receive it, but as long as he had breath in his body he would suppress it.

"That can be arranged," Alastair's cruel voice announced.

Then Dean was choking, frantically trying to draw in air as Alastair slashed at his lungs. The last thing Dean saw was Alastair smiling sickeningly before he succumbed to the horribly blissful darkness.

The next thing Dean was aware of was pain. Which did not come as a surprise. He blinked his heavy lids, and was pleased that both of his eyes were functioning. He lifted his head with a grunt to examine the rest of his body: his lungs were intact once more, but each breath he took burned inside of him. His stomach had healed and was demanding to be fed. All of his major wounds were gone, leaving him with harmless slashes across his body. Dean grimaced as his flesh knitted itself back together. He peered cautiously into the deep shadows around him. Finding nothing, Dean allowed his weary body to sag against his chains. He tried to show as little weakness as possible in front of the demons, but the truth was he was tired. It took all of his strength to cling to sanity, but everyday he felt himself slip that little bit further into the bitter-sweet abyss below him. His cocky exterior had long ago been stripped from him, and he had given up hope that Sam would miraculously find a way to rescue Dean from the literal hell he was in. Everyday he reminded himself that, even though he existed in hell, his life was over, so he had to endure whatever they threw at him. But everyday the words became more and more meaningless as pain and loneliness took over. He had resigned himself to an eternity in hell, but was losing himself to the fumes of anger and revenge.

Dean saw something materialise in front of him, and before he could react long-fingered hands were curling around his throat, squeezing hard, causing him to splutter and choke.

"So, Dean, it's decision time once more. Are you going to join the class like a good little boy?"

Alastair released Dean from the death-grip on his neck, and waited expectantly. Dean tried to calm his frantically beating heart, but showed no sign of acknowledging Alastair's presence apart from a tension in his muscles.

"But then you were never very good at the whole school thing," Alastair drawled. "Daddy wanted you to be his tough little hunter. But you let him down. Dean Winchester, so eager to please, more likely to disappoint. Daddy lasted a hundred years before he busted out of here. But there won't be any great escape for you. How long before you cave? After all, everyone has a breaking point. Think you can beat Daddy's high score? You could never fill your father's shoes. You failed to show your brother the way," Alastair leant in close to Dean's immobile form. "And you couldn't save your mother," he snarled in Dean's ear.

He shoved a naked blade into Dean's hand, but before it could pierce his flesh Dean's limp fingers tightened around the cold, smooth metal. He lifted his head to stare into the demon's black eyes.

"Let me down," his voice came out hoarse and broken, which just angered him further.

He tugged on the chains around his wrists, and they fell away. Then he was falling, and pain lanced through his back as he landed with a thud on a stone floor. He picked himself up, and turned to see a girl stretched out and chained like he had been mere seconds ago. He looked down at his hand and saw the knife laid out across his palm, glinting dangerously in the firelight. He stood like that for what felt like hours, frozen as he came to terms with what he had agreed to do. His mind conjured up Alastair's mocking voice, goading him to do it. Suddenly, in one fluid movement, Dean plunged the blade into her soft flesh, and truly sold his soul.

**Like it? Hate it? Drop me a line. Please? Free mind cookies for reviewers! xxx**


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